


Thunderstruck

by staringatstars



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Magic Users Do It Right, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Shapeshifter Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: He's not Aesir, not an Avenger, and certainly not Thor. Perhaps that means he's not enough to defeat Thanos.There's only one way to find out.





	1. A Catalyst

The screams of the Asgardian citizens stopped before the fight on the Statesmen reached its end.

With his hands trembling at his sides, Loki recognized the silence for the defeat it was, even before Thor was captured, and though he struggled against the rubble warped around him like metal tendrils, keeping him trapped and immobile as his friends risked their lives for him, Loki knew well his efforts were useless. 

Nothing they’d done had mattered since Thanos had tracked the Tesseract’s signature to their vessel. 

It seemed almost absurd to think that he could very well be responsible for the fall of Asgard twice within a single lifetime, let alone within the span of a handful of days. 

Since he'd returned to Thor's side, his mind had conjured castles, even considered – for an instant – the possibility of a future, but now that future lay in the ash at the Mad Titan’s feet, in the soot staining Thor’s agonized expression as he watched Heimdall die, in the blood of their people wetting the ground with near-black puddles. 

Loki had been a fool to think he might live through this, but Thor still had a chance. 

He just needed time. 

And the bluffs rolled easily from his silver tongue, tasting like bile, acidic and sour, despite their sweetness of sound. As Loki stepped forward to pledge his allegiance to the Universe's great destroyer, he couldn’t help catching a glimpse of Thor’s despair, couldn’t quash the desire within himself to offer some subtle reassurance that this was not yet another betrayal. The blade conjured in his palm, concealed by his vambrace, bit determinedly into his flesh, yet Thanos didn’t look fooled, merely amused, a scientist watching a rat perform an unexpectedly delightful trick. 

Closer.

Loki grit his teeth, struggling as he was to keep an eye on Thor and the Children and Thanos. It seemed that the sole being believing his lies was the one person Loki didn’t want to fool, which was a death sentence in more ways than one. 

A little more. 

He lunged-

“Undying?” Thanos scoffed as Loki threw his remaining will against the blue aura arresting his movements. He might have tried to fight the rain. “Poor choice of words.” 

It was true. 

He’d intentionally made the thought of killing him, if only for irony’s sake, far too tempting, too inviting to resist, and once he was dead, Thanos would have everything he’d wanted – his life and the Space stone. 

But Thor would survive this day. 

It was hardly heroic – dooming the universe for the sake of one man. And Loki doubted Thor would do the same were their positions reversed, however… Loki failed to remember when he had ever claimed to be a hero. 

The bone-crushing grip wrapped around his throat was expected. A relief, even.

But as the pressure grew around his flesh and behind his eyes, a cruel smile crawled up the Mad Titan’s cheeks. It didn’t worry Loki until the grip around his throat loosened enough to allow for air to pass through, because that wasn’t supposed to happen. Thanos was meant to kill him, and leave Thor to mourn.

It was, after all, in his nature to be cruel.

But, instead, the Mad Titan set him down on his feet. Even without looking, Loki knew there was hope in his brother’s eyes. Unfortunately, all he could feel was dread. “You pretend to be strong, Laufeyson,” Loki forced himself not to flinch at the old address, as his mind chased itself into knots trying to decipher what new game Thanos was playing. Then he looked over to Thor, “but I know whose name you cry out in the dark.”

And Loki felt his heart freeze in his chest. “No.” 

He lurched, blades once more appearing in his palms, drawing from his own seidr, and the illusion that kept him Aesir, but shackles of cold, gray flesh clamped over him, seizing his arms, forcing him to watch as Thanos moved towards the immobile and helpless Prince of Asgard. Thor looked to him, a question in his gaze. And fear. Fear from the son of Odin, the one and only worthy king. Though his bruised throat protested at the abuse, Loki pleaded, “No, please!” Thanos didn’t hesitate. Thor’s eyes widened, realization setting in like an infection. “Forget my conditions. I’ll do anything you ask!”

When Proxima and Corvus tightened their grips on his arms, he slumped deliberately, as though defeated, and in their instant of surprise, ripped free to plunge a dagger deep into the muscle of Corvus’ shoulder, who reared back with a roar at the same time that Proxima backhanded Loki across the mouth with a blow that would have left a human broken beyond repair. 

Tasting blood, Loki whipped his head up to see Thanos place his gauntlet on the interior hull, his golden-plated fingers tearing at the tacky upholstery until he reached the machinery and pipes within, then with all the ease of plucking a flower, dug into the structure to tear out a gaping hole. 

“Stop it!” Loki screamed over the cacophony of air rushing into the vacuum, writhing, bucking against his captors, though they were all that prevented him from being sucked out, as well. He’d tear his own arms off if that was what it took. Even as Proxima’s nails buried into his skin, the pain barely registered. “Thor owes you nothing! It was I who betrayed your trust!”

For one horrible fragment of time, the titan looked down at him with pity.

“And, if I recall,” muffled sounds of panic and rage bubbled behind Thor’s gag as Thanos reached for him, “you were promised a fate worse than pain.” And he plucked Thor out of his bindings, then without giving him even enough time to speak, cast him into the bottomless abyss of space. 

Abruptly, Loki stopped fighting. 

He stared wordlessly after the retreating speck of Thor’s form, unmoving even after he was released. He didn’t acknowledge the Titan’s departure through a rift he’d carved, nor a last parting barb thrown his way, “Where are your words now, Silvertongue?” 

And as the ship warped and creaked and groaned around him, its interior decompressing, its exterior panels stripping away to expose his unprotected form to the abyss, what little artificial gravity remained brought him crashing to his knees. 

A single thought passed through his mind-

_It's cold._

\- before the world exploded into light and all that he was vanished into oblivion.


	2. Defense Mechanisms

Answering the distress signal had been a good move, especially since the Guardians were still trying to make a name for themselves as heroes, though that seemed a little ridiculous after unquestionably saving the entire galaxy on more than one occasion. Heroes, though, keep doing the right thing, even when it doesn’t benefit them.

No matter what Rocket says.

The problem was the people they were supposed to help - and hopefully receive a reward from – were floating lifelessly in the wreckage of their own vessel. And judging by the finality of the scene, their fate had been decided well before their ship's systems had picked up on their last ditch plea for aid. A quick scan revealed a telling lack of children among the causalities, at least. 

“It looks like they managed to deploy evacuation pods before,” Peter frowned, leaning on the control pad for a closer look while Rocket navigated them around the debris, “whatever did this destroyed the rest of them-”

A body slammed against the windshield, making him jump back while Gamora reached for her knives. It was badly burned, with patches of armor and leather torn from its body to reveal blackened and raw flesh, spattered with spots of unnatural blue.

“Ew.” Rocket complained with the tonal equivalence of reacting to bug splatter. “Get it off!”

Then the corpse’s eyes shot open with a gasp, exposing bloody sclera, and Peter, too distracted to interpret the shock plain on Gamora’s face before she mastered her expression as anything out of the ordinary, yelled urgently towards the rear of the ship, “Open the hatch! We don’t know how much longer he’ll last out there.”

 

Once they had what was presumably a survivor on board, they found they didn’t know what to do with them. Besides lay them out on a metal slab of a table usually purposed for board games and meals. 

In build, they were willowy, though just broad enough in the shoulders that Peter was fairly certain they were dealing with a male, with singed locks of wavy black hair spread about their head in a disarray. Ridged markings of what unblemished flesh remained pointed to the possibility of ritual scarring, while the lack of a fin meant that the likeness between the survivor and Yondu was likely superficial. The loss of their fins resulted in incapacitating and disorienting vertigo, which couldn’t have been the case for their catch since there was no evidence that he’d ever grown one. 

After deciding they were in over their head, Peter grumbled under his breath, “Is it too much to ask for blue space people to stop trying to destroy my ship?”

Gamora’s gaze snapped to him. “He didn’t hit the windshield on purpose, Peter.” She hadn’t taken her eyes off their new passenger since Drax brought him inside, and it was starting to set him on edge. 

He shrugged in an attempt to defuse the tension, “I know that, but if twice is a coincidence, and three’s a pattern, what does that make four?”

Rocket, who’d presumably set the Benatar on auto-pilot, strolled in with a blanket tucked under his arm, “A hobby?”

Satisfied, Peter nodded, “Exactly. So what I’m trying to say is - We need a new hobby.” When Mantis drifted over to the head of the table, her hands hovering over the alien’s temples, he didn’t stop her. The truth was, as much as it didn’t seem likely that someone this badly burned could have taken part in the destruction of the refugee ship, he wasn’t up for taking chances, and there was always the chance that involving themselves in this would end with the Guardians getting on the bad side of someone very mean and very powerful who’d wanted those refugees dead. 

Though fighting those kinds of jerks was kind of in the job description, Peter preferred to know who was winding up the punch before getting socked in the jaw.

An inch away from making contact, Mantis flinched. “He’s in pain, Peter.” He was tempted to ask if the pain was mental or physical, but given the circumstances, imagined it was a healthy helping of both. “Terrible pain. And… I feel…” she looked up, her antennas drooping as tears dripped down her pale cheeks, “loss.” 

At that point, Peter wanted to call it off. If her empathic connection was affecting her this much without her even touching him, then he didn’t want to think about what strengthening the bond would do, except he never got the words out. Mantis parted her lips in a silent gasp, her eyes widening in startlement, and a hand gnarled into the shape of a claw latched onto her wrist. 

Even injured and weakened, the alien shoved her away with a force that sent her reeling, though Drax managed to catch her, keeping her from slamming against the ground. While she nodded gratefully up at him, unaware of the murderous glare aimed over her head, Peter already had his blaster out and directed at the alien’s shuddering form. “Might want to think twice before trying something like that again." Rocket tossed the blanket so it landed haphazardly over the alien's legs, then unstrapped the blaster from his back with a feral growl. "In fact, seeing as how we rescued you, I believe a ‘thank you’ is considered customary.”

The alien didn’t seem to hear him, though. His pupils were blown, and from the dreadful rattling in his chest, struggling to breath was about the extent of what he could manage. Despite that assessment, ruby-red eyes darted wildly around the ship for escape routes. 

And Peter liked a good tactical retreat as much as the next guy, but even he could tell it just wasn’t an option in the middle of space. 

Once the blue man noticed Gamora, though, Peter realized his mistake. He should have known that the guy would recognize her, it was only that Peter himself never saw the Mad Titan's best assassin when he looked at her, never had. Not everyone knew her the way he did, though, and their passenger, judging by his reaction, had known a very different Gamora. Summoning a mastery over his body that Peter hadn’t thought possible, the lone survivor visibly willed his muscles to cease their spasms, brought the volume of his harsh breathing down to a hiss. Even so, the rapid and shallow rise and fall of his chest betrayed the facade of calm. 

After a moment, a quiet, faintly accented voice rasped with a sort of resigned despair, “I was captured, then.”

“No,” Gamora took a step forward, ignoring Peter’s sharp look of warning when she blocked his shot, “I’m not with Thanos. I left.” But she glanced back at him, wordlessly pleading for him to trust her. Slowly, he lowered his gun. She breathed a sigh of relief. “He wants to destroy everything. I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen.”

Instead of relaxing, the blue guy sneered, his lips curling back to bare his teeth like fangs, “Am I supposed to believe that you grew a conscious, demoness?”

Peter bristled, “Hey-“

“Don’t interfere, Peter,” Gamora snapped without breaking eye contact with their surly guest. And Peter backed down, because he trusted her, but also because he could tell Rocket and Drax were itching for a fight if it came to it, both of whom he'd have gladly chosen over an army. 

Registering his audience, the newcomer attempted to sit up on his elbows, to situate himself in a position that didn’t so clearly broadcast weakness, but eventually settled for raising his head with a gleam of agony that bordered on madness. “What is it you want from me?” He hissed with a calm that was somehow more frightening than his panic. “Information? My cooperation?” The crazed sheen brightened, joined by a wide, mirthless grin. “Or just the sadistic pleasure of hearing me scream?”

And it wasn’t obvious, if Peter didn’t know her so well he might have even called it an ill-timed twitch, but Gamora definitely flinched at his words. She hadn’t flinched for Ronan, or a living planet, but this refugee seemed to know all the right buttons to press, which suggested familiarity, and not with Gamora of the Guardians, but the Mad Titan’s daughter. 

It went a long way towards explaining why the blue alien’s haggard features contorted with hatred and suspicion whenever she spoke. 

Gamora paused, taking a moment to glance at each of them, before lowering her voice to say, “You have your weapons, don’t you?” A shiver traveled down the length of the alien’s body at the same time its crimson eyes narrowed into slits. When he reached for a slender, delicate-looking dagger from a semi-melted holster at his waist, Peter and Rocket trained their weapons on him. The alien’s breathing spiked. Peter noticed a cloud of mist appear in front of his face on the exhale. It hadn’t happened rapidly enough to be obvious, but now he could see frost forming under the man’s prone form, crawling down the sides of the table. 

More and more, it was starting to look like they’d made a mistake.

Before he could voice his thoughts on the matter, however, Gamora grabbed the stranger’s wrist, burning her skin with the cold in the process, and yanked the tip of the dagger to her throat. 

To his credit, the blue alien appeared just as surprised as the rest of them. 

“Gamora-“

“Trust me, Peter.” With the blade pressed against her skin, she poured her whole heart into her words, knowing nothing less would be believed. “Thanos bent and broke us.” The stranger looked aghast at the mere mention of his name, briefly struggling against her hold. Though the ice creeping up her arm had nearly reached her elbow, she held fast. “Made us do horrible things to good people. But if I can find a way to make up for even a fraction of what I’ve done, then I know you can, too.”

“And do you honestly believe,” spat the blue alien viciously, “there is redemption for those of us who have sunk so low?”

Gamora leaned back, apparently at peace. “That’s what I plan to find out.” The moment she let go of the man, he slumped heavily against the table, too spent to pretend otherwise, and Mantis pressed a warm cloth to her ice-encased limb. “It’s fine.” Gamora assured her as she fussed, though her attention never drifted. “He’s not strong enough right now to hurt me.”

The blue alien glowered, then shuddered, and slowly, the burned flesh and fused leather scraps began to become overshadowed by another image, one of an Aesir man roughly the same age as Peter, with a sickly, grey pallor and the same wavy locks of black hair, now with an unhealthy dullness. His lips curled at the corner. “You were saying?”

“You can heal?” Peter blurted out. Drax looked delighted at the prospect. 

Cocking his blaster, Rocket grinned, “Let’s test it.”

“No,” Gamora said firmly, defusing the situation before it could get out of control. “This man’s name is Loki. Where he’s from, he’s considered royalty. And we’re not going to risk instigating a conflict with an entire planet by hurting him.”

Glancing askance, Loki absently massaged his throat. There was a ring around it, blotchy and swollen. Pretty soon, it would darken into a seriously impressive bruise. “I think you’ll find that is no longer a concern.” Once he had their attention, he continued, speaking each word as though he were expelling a stone,“My planet was destroyed, forcing the Asgardian people to flee.” He looked pointedly at Gamora. “Lor-“ A violent coughing fit wracked him.

He swallowed when it was done, thanking Mantis when she tentatively handed him a cup of water – and did he go out of his way not to touch her? - and tried again, “Thanos attacked before we got far.” The silvery scars on Gamora’s face, Peter saw with alarm, leapt when contrasted with the rapid paling of her green skin. “Now that he has the Space Stone, he’ll likely go to Knowhere, next.”

“Why would he want to go there?” Rocket asked at the same time Gamora exclaimed, ”You sent the Reality Stone to the Collector?”

“Odin ordered the Reality Stone sent to the Collector for safekeeping.” 

“What was he thinking?” Peter shook his head. “The Collector can’t be trusted with something that powerful. We saw that ourselves. Only an idiot would send it to him.”

_An idiot?_ Peter caught Loki mouthing out of the corner of his eye, though he could have sworn he’d been staring straight at the guy, then spotted Gamora’s response, a slightly sheepish shrug. On the whole, the interaction was entirely too familiar for comfort. He determinedly stomped down an irrational impulse to step between them. 

“Yes, well,” Loki started with a breezy wave of his hand, “what’s done is done. Far be it for me to question the All-Father’s will.”

Gamora shot him a sharp, furtive look that was obviously meant to be private. Peter pressed his mouth into a thin line, but kept it shut. He watched Loki tense, wondering what he read into the expression, what he was waiting for, but whatever it was, it didn’t happen. 

Instead, Gamora squared her shoulders, set her jaw.

“Then that’s where we’re going.”

An arm shot out to stop her from leaving, hovered uncertainly over her vambrace, then fell without ever making contact. “Alas,” Loki said to her side, “I am saddened to say that our paths diverge here.” Something told Peter he wasn’t being honest. “There’s a certain acquaintance of mine on Earth with information that should prove useful to the cause, and I’ll be better utilized procuring his assistance then remaining here to continue threatening the delicate self-esteem of that human you’re so obviously fond of.” 

Gamora’s cheeks darkened, though whether with embarrassment or anger it was impossible to tell for sure. 

“Dude,” Peter muttered with a disbelieving shake of his head, “I really don't like you.” The empty smile his words earned him sent a shiver down Peter’s spine. Or maybe that was the plummeting temperature. He rubbed his arms, feeling resentful of good deeds and selfless acts, in general.

“Come on, Rocket.” He gestured towards the cockpit. “We’re setting a course for Earth. The faster we get Mr. Freeze off my ship, the better.”

 

“He would’ve taken you there, anyway, you know,” Gamora informed him quietly once the cockpit was sealed and the others had drifted far enough away to give them a semblance of privacy, her tone almost thoughtful. “Because you asked. And he’s a good man. You don’t have to-“

Loki interrupted her with a sneer, “Allow me to be the judge of that, Lady Gamora.”

A frown appeared where before had been a tightly pressed line. Impatiently, she tucked a magenta-highlighted curl behind an ear. 

“You don’t have to call me that. Gamora is fine.” Then she rose to leave, her arm already fully healed, which could have been due to a mixture of his own weakness and the adjustments Thanos had made to her biology, or even due to the interference of the fledgling empath they had on board. Loki chanced a glimpse at where he’d last seen her, glancing away quickly after accidentally making eye contact with her muscled guardian. Gamora followed his gaze, her lips quirking at the sides. “They’re good people, Loki. You’ll find that out if you give yourself the chance.”

He watched her go, burning her visage into his memory.

It occured to him that he'd never asked after Nebula. It occured to him that he never would.

He closed his eyes, struggling to visualize nothing, anything to speed the healing process his body was undergoing beneath the hasty glamour he'd thrown up from the veritable crawl it-

An electronic tune coming from the foot of the table he was currently bound to pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked down to see a young sproutling with a blinking game controller staring up at him, their brown eyes wide, round, and entirely too innocent for the company they were keeping. 

“Please abstain from staring,” Loki muttered dryly. “I’m terribly shy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive response, guys!


	3. The Lies We Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket goes into the back to tell Loki they're approaching Earth's atmosphere, only to inadvertently have a conversation he wasn't prepared for.

When Rocket strode out of the cockpit to inform Loki that the Benetar was nearing Earth’s atmosphere, it was to find the pair apparently deep in conversation.

Groot had his head propped up on the table, situated right between the Asgardian’s feet. “I am Groot,” he intoned, concern ringing through the syllables. 

It seemed that the Asgardian wasn’t keen on being worried about, or else didn’t quite know how accept sympathy, because he visibly shifted away from that topic, making it clear he didn’t wish to delve on his less-than-ideal state with a tired sigh, “Yes, well, you wouldn’t look your best either if you were blown to pieces.” Rocket bit back a growl. Before he could jump in, Groot clambered up onto the table, his chattering taking on a note of annoyance. As he spoke, Loki’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, is that so? How very unfortunate.”

Groot seemed torn on how to interpret that before ultimately letting it go with a shrug. 

Catching himself staring, Rocket smacked his paws against his cheeks to mentally get into gear, straightened, then strode into the lounge area, making his presence known to the jumpy alien with an intentionally casual, “You can speak Groot?”

He had a feeling the Asgardian knew he'd been dilly-dallying around the corner, anyway. 

And as if to confirm his suspicions, Loki answered the query with an airy wave of his hand, “It was an elective.” Rocket was tempted to ask if he was lying down still because he physically couldn’t sit up or because he thought he’d been a Caesar in a past life, but decided against it. Didn’t exactly take a genius to know better than to poke and prod a fella when they were out of sorts. 

Rocket waited for him to elaborate for about a minute, during which he watched a contemptible smirk creep up his perfect porcelain face. 

Glad somebody was having a laugh. 

With some effort, Rocket shook it off. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been worse company on better days. 

Frowning as he watched Groot wander off, not doubt to return to his game console, he observed, “You’re pretty careful with your words, aren’t you?”

For the first time since he’d woken up, the Asgardian looked genuinely startled. “What?”

“You said it’s an elective,” Rocket shrugged, “but not that you took it. Any particular reason for that?”

“I didn’t… I just…” A bluish tint crept into his skin, scarlet bled into his irises, but both were gone so quickly Rocket could almost convince himself he’d imagined it, “picked it up to help someone I knew study.” As though consumed by memories, he continued distantly, “He never seemed to remember what he read, and often got bored. I thought maybe if he had a partner…”

Rocket stopped him there. “Hold on, so you were like a study buddy?” He crossed arms over his chest, watching with satisfaction as the alien refocused on him. “For a class you weren’t even taking? What a weird way to spend your time.”

The Asgardian bristled. “It had it’s own merits.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Outside the window, a blue sphere could be seen growing larger by the second. “Anyway, we’ll be landing in New York soon. Try to hold on to something,” Rocket advised. “There’s a storm brewing down there with winds that might do a number on the flight path if Quill doesn’t remember to compensate.” 

“Really?” Loki replied, somehow drawing two syllables into three. 

“What? You like thunderstorms or something?”

To his relief, the Asgardian actually sat up at that, throwing his legs over the side to stretch what Rocket suspected was new muscle. “You could say I’ve recently rediscovered a certain fondness for them.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever been much of a fan of them.” He gestured towards his head. “Thunder hurts my ears, you know?”

“Yes, well…” a flicker of what Rocket thought was fear crept into his expression. The Asgardian reached up to touch the bruises on his neck, before breaking the contact with a violence that suggested the movement hadn’t been conscious, “I suppose it's not to everyone’s taste.”

Rushing to fix his mistake, Rocket blurted, “Lightning’s cool, though- Ah. Hey, are you going to be okay?” Though he’d told Quill he’d only be a second so he could help with the entry into Earth’s atmosphere, it seemed like taking a step backwards or showing any sign that he didn’t want to be there would only worsen the situation as it stood, so he stood his ground. Listened. 

Unfortunately, it seemed the Asgardian was done sharing. “Thank you for your concern,” Rocket nodded slowly, taking it for the dismissal it was, “but I’ll be fine, rabbit.” He paused on the way to the cockpit, opened his mouth with a single finger raised, glanced over his shoulder at the forlorn alien staring off into space, then closed his jaw with a snap. The Asgardian chuckled, the sound empty and surprisingly bitter. “I am always am.” 

Shaking his head at what a disaster that had been once he was out of eyesight, Rocket slapped a paw against the door switch, darting inside the cockpit before it was even fully open. 

He didn’t believe what Loki had said about being fine for a second, but it wasn’t like the lie was meant for him, anyway. 

“Hey, Quill?” He asked once he was situated in his seat. The Earth consumed their vision, looming huge and breathtakingly beautiful. He could see why Quill loved it so much. “Are we really just gonna drop him off like this?”

Quill glanced at him after a beat, visibly reluctant to take his eyes off his home planet. “What else can we do? We have to go after Thanos.” Though he said that, Rocket had gotten pretty good at reading him over the years. Quill hated this as much as he did. Still, it was a captain’s decision to make the hard calls, so Rocket didn’t call him on it. 

Instead, he gripped the control sticks in his paws, and got to work on incorporating the storm winds into their calculated path for entry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Loki shows up at Strange's sanctum uninvited. But it's okay because he has a permit.


	4. Sanctum Sanctorum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki visits Strange with a request.

Per his request, the spacecraft landed several blocks short of 177A Bleecker Street, on what turned out to be, as predicted, a positively dreary day. 

Thick clouds, mottled gray and thick as muddied cotton, roiled across the wide expanse of sky, pouring buckets upon the earth without restraint. As soon as Loki stepped from the Benetar, he conjured a thin shield around his person, keeping the worst of the deluge from agitating his burns, then cloaked the remains of his shredded leather vest with a flimsy glamour of civilian cloth. Had Frigga yet lived, she might have scolded him for not weaving the threads of his seidr with more care, and he reluctantly admitted that it wasn’t his best work. Any mortals glancing in his direction would see a slender, tall man in a well-trimmed suit, before having their attention inexplicably drawn elsewhere, but should they focus with intent, the seams would surely begin to show. 

It occurred to him as he strode down the sidewalk, his boots leaving no prints nor ripples in the puddles he walked through, that he need not have bothered, as the humans themselves seemed far too interested in reaching their destinations to give more than passing glance. 

The stone steps of the Sanctum Sanctorum looked innocuous enough, as did the building itself, though Loki knew better. The previous Sorcerer Supreme had strengthened the wards to the degree that their presence scraped abrasively against his seidr as he approached, carrying out their master’s will long after the original caster’s spirit had passed from the realm. They were ancient, alien, and thus, Loki opted to wait patiently for them to finish their inspection. 

Once they were done, the oppressive weight of their presence lessened considerably, and the mahognany door swung open at the height of the steps, revealing Stephen Strange, wreathed in the protection of his cloak, and predictably wary. 

“Loki.” Strange said with passable civility. “Can I ask to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Loki pushed past him. “Get out of my way.” 

The first level of the sanctum was the camouflage. Gift stores and merchandise, a library stacked with books on calming sutras, fortune telling, acupuncture, and Chinese geomancy. Charlatans pulling the wool over the eyes of the masses by proclaiming they were charlatans. The true tomes were stored on the third floor, along with the Eye of Agamotto, which the magician now wore wrapped around his neck like a dollar-store trinket. 

A cloaked arm lashed out, latching onto Loki’s wrist with an iron grip. Staring at the offending appendage, Loki bit down on his tongue, swallowing the cry threatening to spill from his lips. “You’re wounded.”

“Brilliant deduction,” snarled Loki, ripping his arm from his grasp as he simultaneously gestured to the premises, continuing with an acid drip drawl, “However would this sanctum survive without you?”

It was tempting to open a rift in space, skip this whole confrontation all together by stepping through the hole carved in reality to pass straight to the inner sanctum, and Loki might have considered it, had the thought of being so wasteful with his remaining seidr not left such a sour taste in his mouth. Free now, he made for the twining staircases, heedless of Strange’s attempt to call him back. 

A growing rumble from above drew him short. From the top of the twining staircases a flood came sweeping over the steps, its sides sloshing against the rails without spilling a drop on the floor. Gritting his teeth, Loki spread out his palms, calling on heat, on fire and the molten layer flowing beneath the earth’s crust. In an instant, the roaring waves evaporated, hissing steam all that remained of the flood that was. 

Impatient and quickly losing his temper, the Asgardian peered imperiously over his shoulder, a single brow arched as he waited for an explanation. 

Strange, to his credit, looked unperturbed. He straightened. “Where is Thor?” Loki said nothing, though the color drained from the sallow features piercing through the gossamer threading of his guise. “Where is your brother? Why isn’t he here with you?” The magician’s suspicion visibly grew the longer Loki maintained his silence. Spinning golden circlets inscribed with runes appeared above his palms.

“Dispel your illusion.”

Loki cocked his head. “Can’t you simply see through it?” There was no energy behind the taunt, no feeling. Still, the words came easily enough. “Any competent magician should be more than capable of such a small feat.” He kept his shoulders straight, his chin high. Scraping together as much dignity as he could before golden seidr dissipated as though unraveled by the tugging of a single thread, and before Strange stood an Aesir with blue-tinted, ash-smeared skin, tangled locks clumped and matted with sweat and debris. A healing cut, now more of a scar, split his left brow, and the pungent odor of something organic burning saturated the sanctum. 

Strange’s mouth parted in surprise. Loki scoffed. 

Glancing at the ruin of his own form, he mused, “Midgardian children, when injured, will cease their wailing once the offending scrape or bruise is out of sight, will they not?” And with a slight, not-quite smile, added wryly, “There is power in keeping appearances.”

This next part, he realized, would taste like bile splashing over his tongue, but that made it no less true, and without allies, the fight with Thanos was a good as lost, so Loki unclenched his fists, dropped his shoulders, and dipped his head, splaying his hands at his sides. “I need your help, Stephen Strange.” He paused, gauging his reaction. “This is a force like you have never faced and it is coming here to destroy everything that you hold dear on your precious planet.”

While the cloak flared around its master, Strange appeared unimpressed. “Threats? Really?”

With a strained laugh that tasted of blood, Loki gestured at his form, “Do I look like I am in any condition to threaten, magician?” Sure, he was standing on his own feet. A skeleton could do as much if propped correctly. “Asgard was destroyed. Thanos found the survivors. Thor was…” Here, his throat briefly closed, blocking any words from passing his lips. He grit his teeth, berating himself for allowing such sentimentality. With a brief flare of his nostrils, he forced down a dry swallow. “Thor is not coming. Thus, it is up to me act in the interest of this planet in his absence.” There. Was that so hard? 

After a moment of consideration, Strange said, “And you expect me to take your word for it?” As Loki had so hoped he would. 

When he reached out with frostbite blue fingertips to touch the sorcerer’s forehead, however, any contact he might have achieved in that moment of surprise was prevented by the cloak inserting itself between him and Strange in a flash of crimson. 

Quietly, Loki tried to reason, “I mean no harm to your master.”

On guard, Strange frowned. “I have no master.” 

He was confused. Irritated. It fit him well. Loki longed to keep him in that state for as long as possible. He grinned with all his teeth. “Bold of you to assume I was speaking to you.”

And when he lunged, the cloak pulled back, startling Strange, but before he could get his bearings, there were fingers on his temple, and in the instant contact was made, he saw-

_Screams._

_Metal warping with heat, popping like a bubble filled with nightmares._

_Cries. Running. Panic._

_Men and women falling on top of each other, their life blood mixing and collecting in swirling pools on the ground. Bodies beneath the debris._

_And a male voice singing the praises of Thanos and the endless death he will bring._

_There was a blur of green, a flash-image of Thor encased in bent rebar and beams, unable to speak. Then Strange felt himself being lifted by the neck, experienced sheer animal terror as the walls of his throat collapsed in on themselves._

_The pain alleviated when the titan in golden armor holding him let him fall, and he coughed violently, hacking and spitting just to breath. There was a shout that spilled from his lungs, tearing tissue on its way out, and Thor-_

_Thanos ripped him from the ground, tore a hole through the ship, and-_

“I think you’ve seen enough.” 

Strange came out of the vision with a gasp, the room spinning dizzyingly as he fought to adjust to the abrupt shift. Less than a second ago, he’d been in space, reeling with guilt and pain. Eyes watering, he stared up at the Asgardian whose memories he’d seen, taking in the stark shadows sharpening his features, the unnatural paleness. His expression, however, was strangely, carefully blank. “Unless you’d like to see more?”

“No,” Strange replied a little too quickly, climbing to his feet and offhandedly brushing off the cloak’s concerned ministrations. “No, I believe you.”

Loki sighed, sagging, though he didn’t seem aware. “Good.” And a tired grin stretched across his face. “Let’s get started, then, shall we?”

 

They discussed their best course of action in the occult library, debating the pros and cons of using the Eye when doing so could risk unraveling the fabric of time.

It wasn’t meant to be an ace-in-the-hole.

“If you don’t plan to use it, then why do you carry it around with you?”

Strange placed a hand over the Eye. “Because it’s safest with me.” 

Though Loki shot Strange a look that reeked of skepticism, he didn’t argue. Instead, he snatched a map from one of the shelves and unrolled it over a table. It was a plain map of the earth, made of old parchment. However, it was enchanted, as billions of lights glowed on its surface, some of them dimming, others at their prime. “That being the case, we should do everything within our power to ensure our first attempt on the Mad Titan’s life is also our last.”

“That could be interpreted in a variety of ways,” Loki narrowed his eyes in warning, “but I understand your point.”

It was agreed, at least, that the likelihood of them defeating Thanos would increase monumentally with an additional ally. Rather than settle for any sympathetic ear, however, it was a magic user of the highest caliber that Loki felt would optimize their chances of success, and while Strange didn’t argue, he was irritatingly reticent on the matter. 

Pacing with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, Loki asked for the second or third time, “Are you entirely certain you cannot simply tell me who the strongest sorcerer on Midgard is? What possible rule does it break to pass on such vital information when the fate of the universe hangs in the balance?”

“It’s not a rule, Loki. Last I checked, you still tried to take over New York a few years back.”

Stop. Breath. “Then not only are you dangerously incompetent,” Loki said levelly, his tone stripped of emotion, “you’re a fool.” 

How utterly ironic. To think that while standing in the culmination of a millennia worth of collected knowledge, the Sorcerer Supreme would doom the universe by choosing to bask in the vast ocean of his own boundless ignorance. 

Short of prostrating himself, Loki wasn’t sure what else he could do to convince the magician of his sincerity. Perhaps his motives weren’t pure, and his spirit was twisted, tainted beyond recognition. Shaped in the image of a monster. None of that changed the fact that his desire to kill Thanos was true, and the consequences of failure were very, very real. Pushing away from the table, he turned his back on the man. “I have shown you my memories. I have asked for your _help_.” The protective seal on the sanctum shook, its glass trembling with the force of thunder that swept furiously over the mortal plane. Its raw power tingled over Loki’s flesh, lending him strength. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched with muted fascination as the hairs on his arm stood. “My crimes against this realm cannot and shall not be forgiven. I know that.” There were no happy endings for the wolf, the scorpion, or the viper. “However,” and he spun, pointing an accusing finger at the sorcerer who claimed to hold Midgard’s best interests at heart, “you are crafting enemies from smoke and shadows, and they are blinding you to the enemies knocking at your door!” For once, it seemed that Strange was speechless. Loki let his arm fall with a tired sigh. Limbs heavy with exhaustion that sank deeper than his body, he made to leave the sanctum and its protector. “If you’re not going to help me, hero, then you’re wasting my time.”

Behind him, he heard the scrape of a chair’s wooden legs on the tile as Strange stood. 

“Her name is Wanda Maximoff.” Loki stopped. He glanced over his shoulder to see Strange take a steadying breath, brow furrowed. “She’s an Avenger.” 

It was the start of an allegiance. Strange may not have trusted him, but even he could understand the urgency of their predicament. If there was a moment to spare, Loki might have sunk down onto a stool, rested his head on his hands to process the full meaning and repercussions of this latest development. 

Instead, he focused on not swaying where he stood, “Thank you. The chances of our survival have just increased exponentially,” and used his seidr like a blade to cut a small window into the dimension, then reached his hand into the ring, withdrawing a pulsing crystalline cube, its surface edged with rows upon rows of overlapping mazes. It was, for all intents and purposes, a tesseract. 

“Odin ordered a fake constructed and locked it in the Asgardian vault,” he explained before Strange could kick up a fuss, and rotated the cube consideringly in his hand.

Strange stepped around the table to approach, keeping his gaze fixed on the glowing object. “So you gave the fraudulent copy to Thanos?”

Having anticipated the question, Loki answered readily, “He would have felt the difference. The stones react to the presence of their siblings.” Then again, what was the worst that could have happened? He’d kill Thor? That had happened regardless. In truth, all his efforts had accomplished was hastening the impending doom of his brother’s beloved Midgard. 

Strange made a thoughtful noise. “Then it’s useless, isn’t it?”

Loki bristled, snapping, “It may not transport us across the galaxy but it’s more than enough for one measly planet.” It didn’t escape him how Strange appeared to be evaluating him, now that they’d forged a somewhat tentative alliance. 

“And why not use your own power?” Rain slammed against the windows, streaming down their panes in thick, ropey rivulets, washing away dust and clinging particulates. There were no humans strutting the streets now, no umbrellas and few cars. It was a world alive with sound and motion. It did not know of silence nor stillness. Nor of the tidal wave of suffering that followed in the Mad Titan’s wake. 

“Perhaps,” Loki began with a sneer, “I wish to conserve my strength. Not everyone is so inclined to frittering it away on needless showboating. ”

Strange chuckled under his breath, rankling him further. “Somehow, I had a feeling you’d say something like that.” And he laid a gloved hand on Loki’s shoulder, ignoring the way he jerked at the touch. 

A second away from warning him to remove his appendage before he lost it for good, Loki became aware of the mage’s intent. Healing magic joined with his seidr, bolstering it. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against a natural resistance to both the touch and the foreign magic melding with his own. It wasn’t long before it was done, and when it was, Loki didn’t thank him, though Strange at least had the sense not to expect it. “You might have warned me.”

Strange shrugged, a gesture mirrored by the cloak he wore. “Would you have agreed if I had?”

Instead of giving voice to the corrosive response forming on his tongue, Loki left him standing in the sanctum alone, disappearing in a blip with the name _Wanda Maximoff_ suspended in his mind like the final note of a song. 

Strange barely had time to decide whether or not he should be concerned when Loki reappeared, looking rather smug with a young woman in a crimson vest tucked under his arm. He released her and she listed sideways, torn between abject confusion and teleportation nausea. 

“Where am I?” Her frightened gaze darted around the sanctum in a panic, falling on Strange before sliding to Loki, then alternating frantically between the two. “Who _are_ you people?” While she gasped out her questions, Loki continued to look inordinately satisfied, and Strange came to the tardy conclusion that he may have made a terrible mistake. 

That was, until the young, hunched witch twisted with her palms outstretched to blast a concentrated projectile of percussive force straight into Loki’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and thanks so much for the support! I really appreciate it!


	5. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes friends and breaks stuff.

The crimson magic collided against his seidr with the grace of a battering ram, knocking him off his feet and propelling him to a great height within the span of a heartbeat. Automatically, his own defenses began breaking down and redistributing the casting, lessening its momentum though not dispelling it entirely, so that he was able to guide the arc of his descent onto the top of a bookcase several feet away. 

Well. That was... _fascinating._

Seidr was, at its purest, stemmed from the collected and condensed energy of nature. It was the birth and death of a star, a million atoms colliding, leaves falling from their branches and new growth in the spring. In essence, it was life. 

However, what his own magic had deconstructed was certainly not seidr. It existed within the girl and was undoubtedly a part of her, but there was an element of corruption to the aura it cast, a chemical taint to her power that tasted sharply metallic on his tongue. 

Inefficient. Unfocused, yet powerful enough in its concentration to be plainly visible to the eye. Such a feat would have taken an Asgardian mage decades to master, decades the human witchling clearly did not have. 

“I thought you said she was a magic user?” Loki called down to Strange, adjusting his tie and smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt. His meaning may not have been clear enough, however, for the response he received was an impressively obtuse, “She is.”

After stepping off the side of the bookcase, Loki slowed his descent to a manageable pace, then strode forward, gesturing impatiently,“This isn’t casting.” The girl bristled at his approach, wisps of scarlet peeling from her clothing and skin. “There’s no technique, no finesse. No grace.” He was well within her range now, if she could project her blasts as he suspected, which begged the question of why she was holding back. Cocking his head in a manner he’d been informed on many occasions was particularly infuriating, Loki dismissively concluded, “It’s the magical equivalent of a temper tantrum.”

There was a quiet hiss as the witchling suck in a breath through her teeth, her eyes narrowed into slits. The side of Loki’s mouth ticked upwards in a goading smirk. 

Strange glanced between the two of them, wary. “Is that your way of saying it’s sympathetic to her emotional state?” When he saw Loki cast him a sharp look of annoyance, the sorcerer merely shrugged. “Not all of us speak asshole.”

“And yet,” Loki grumbled, “you appear to be fluent.” 

That the sorcerer appeared pleased by the implied admittance only served to spoil his already ruined mood. As luck would have it, however, a pulse of crimson swept over the ground, phasing through them without harm while leaving impressions of anger, fear, and confusion in its wake. As one, they turned their attention to their young guest, who trembled with the potency of her rage. “Will someone,” she gritted out, palms raised and swathed in her crimson aura, “please tell me why this maniac has brought me here?!” And she thrust an accusing finger in Loki’s direction. Loki also pointed a finger at himself, feigning confusion. Seeing that, Strange disapprovingly shook his head. “You’ve snatched me from my hotel room, criticized my abilities,” with each new grievance her voice rose, the walls began to shake, “and now you think you can just ignore me?!” 

“Certainly not.” 

Her power abruptly dissipated as confusion clouded her features. Loki stepped forward. “There is little time to spare. The more you know, the better prepared you will be to face what is coming. A conqueror and destroyer of worlds is making his way to your planet as we speak, and the destruction he and his Children will wring cannot be imagined. It can only be experienced.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

“I served him. Once.” His expression froze for a moment, his eyes going glassy and unfocused, before a hand reached up to swipe at the tendrils of scarlet caressing his temples and his gaze cleared, though it narrowed at the smugness with which the girl feigned innocence. She appeared disappointed, though not overly surprised that the ploy had not worked. “It’s very rude to attempt to infiltrate another caster’s mind without their permission, youngling,” he told her scoldingly. “Rude and dangerous.” He forced his muscles to relax, reminding himself that he too had once done foolish things in his youth. Despite this, the fear of having his own horrors unearthed for her to see lingered in the form of a stubborn chill in his bones. “Is there anything short of allowing you access to my innermost thoughts and secrets that will convince you of my sincerity?”

“I hardly believe you are _capable_ of sincerity.” Loki closed his eyes. 

He did not know how long they remained so, only that the sorcerer felt it necessary to call for him. Judging by the pitch and urgency, it wasn’t the first time, and Loki couldn’t help but be impressed by how convincing his concern sounded. Truly, the magician had missed his calling in the theatre. 

When at last he’d gathered himself, Loki opened his eyes to see the witchling staring at him strangely. A smirk spread across his face, wiping that strangeness away, leaving wariness and suspicion in its place. His smile widened. “You’re absolutely right about me.” She tensed. “And I could not possibly convince of something that does not exist, so let us skip the part where I try, shall we?” Again, the sorcerer spoke his name. This time, however, Loki ignored him. “Just know this - I am asking for your help in dealing with this threat and his pet abominations not for my own sake, nor even for vengeance. He will destroy your families. He will force you to watch your loved ones turn to dust as they slip through your fingers. That is undeniable fact.” There was something gratifying in watching the color flee her cheeks as the truth of his words made themselves known. It seemed she had some talent in the finer points of the arts, after all. “What I am offering you is not a victory.” And here he took a step back, turning to address both of the human magic users. “My brother,” and here his voice threatened to stutter, to dip, to crack over that one damnable word, “loved this silly little planet. He died fighting to protect not only his own citizens, but yours, as well. Will you, who were born of this soil, not do the same?”

The humans, it seemed, needed time to process his words. Deciding that this much time could be spared, Loki strode over to the sorcerer’s book collection to give the pair a moment to discuss the ill tidings he’d brought. Strange had told him he was on board, so Loki knew he could tentatively count on his support should the girl decline. It would be understandable, really. Were he in her position, taken from her place of lodging by a mad man begging for aid against an heretofore unknown enemy, there was little doubt that he would do the same. 

Running his finger over the leathery spine of an ancient tome on arcana, this one still managing to remain on the shelf despite the gale of force displayed by the witchling earlier, it was plain to see that the books were well-cared for, a wealth of knowledge entrusted to a man barely five-hundred moons old. What could the Supreme Sorcerer have seen in him to convince her of his worth? 

There were fates that could not be changed, steps that must be taken in order for the stream of life and time to flow without obstruction. Loki himself had never cared overly much for the rules, but he was undoubtedly aware of them. Could any of the Midgardians say the same? 

Frowning, Loki picked up another book, only to realize that it had been read recently, its pages coming apart easily under his fingers. The same was true of the next, and the next, until it became apparent that someone had taken the time and effort to peruse the entire shelf. 

Upon returning the last book he’d removed to its section, Loki found his mood greatly improved. Additionally, the humans had finally reached a consensus. 

The young witch stalked over to him, stopping just out of range, much as he had. Carefully, as though testing the waters, she began,“You are trying to guilt us into a suicide mission.”

“Oh, most definitely”, agreed Loki without hesitation, noting the sorcerer’s resulting wince with not a small amount of satisfaction. “But first,” and knives appeared in his hands out of the ether, causing the young witch’s dark eyes to go wide, “let us see what you can do.” He sprinted forward, tossing a blade towards her to test her reflexes, and she batted it away successfully with a single crimson-enveloped palm while the second propelled her backwards to increase the distance, but Loki wasn’t having it. He increased his pace. 

While they clashed, taking advantage of the furniture and walls for speed and height when necessary, Strange roared after them, “Do _not_ break my sanctum!” 

Almost immediately, the witchling misjudged her steps when ducking to avoid a blade and slammed into a pedestal bearing some kind of multicolored orb. It teetered precariously over the edge as the pedestal swayed before tipping over, its fate sealed, except the magician teleported to its location in time to swipe it out of the air, looking aggrieved. 

“Sorry!” The young witch called over her shoulder, while at the same time throwing up a barrier to block the hail of daggers heading towards her. They pinged harmlessly off, clattering noisily to the ground. Meanwhile, Loki found himself standing next to a vase. It didn’t look particularly important. He gave it a push. “Oops.”

From what he’d gathered, her strength seemed to stem from a nearly bottomless stamina, which was all the more impressive considering the majority of her magical reservoir was fueled by her own power. It replenished itself at such an absurdly rapid pace that Loki was beginning to feel a toll on his magic purely from his attempts to force her to expend her own to any observable degree. Physically, however, she was at a disadvantage. She replied heavily on her untamed aura to defend her body from projectiles, and favored propulsion by way of expelling a portion of her endless reserves at the ground over dodging, running, or leaping to safety. 

“You wield your magic like a blunt object,” he sidestepped a blast, having grown accustomed to her pattern, and predictably, she gathered more energy into her palms, anger and frustration emanating from her slender form in potent waves. “The sorcerer, for all his inexperience, can at least serve as a passable hammer.” 

Strange blinked, pausing in the work of levitating displaced books and papers back into their places. “Did you just call me a tool?”

“Who trained you in the arts?”

“I trained myself,” the witchling snapped, her arms raised and posture defensive in preparation for the continuation of their fight. 

“I see.” Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Loki continued, “Unfortunately, there is no time to teach you in the finer points of magic.” He sighed. “I suppose brute force will do.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything!” At her shout, another pulse of her aura radiated outwards, eventually passing through the walls. It wasn’t damaging, though several of the shelfs shook, as Strange wielded his own power to ensure the vibrations didn’t dislodge anything else. Lowering his arms to his sides, he mumbled something about a man named Wong under his breath, shooting Loki a look of irritation while the object of said glare made a show of appearing momentarily affronted. 

He turned his attention back to the young novice, the girl with power, little to no limits, and no guidance to speak of. What it must have been like to grow into maturity in a world where magic was so scarce and feared. Asgard, while perhaps not known for its progressive attitudes towards magic users, at least acknowledged and accepted its existence. “Instead of naturally tapping into the power within you,” he started, conjuring a bit of his own seidr into his palm for a visual representation, “it seems to be as though you rile your magic into a volatile state to make use of whatever excess boils to the surface.” Always close, Loki allowed himself to siphon off from the rage roiling within him, the sorrow, and the placid verdant orb floating over his outstretched hand began to writhe, its green shifting towards something murky and opaque. Understanding dawned on her features. “You are powerful witchling, of that I have no doubt, but more than that, I believe you have potential.” The orb blinked out of existence as he closed his palm into a fist. “Help us now, and if it pleases you, I will teach all I know.”

She studied him without speaking, her gaze sharp and aged beyond her time, before blowing out a breath. “My name is Wanda,” she said eventually. “Wanda Maximoff. And you… tried to conquer New York. How can you possibly expect me to trust you?”

An easy smile, though not strictly a pleasant one, curved Loki’s lips. Being distrusted was, after all, something he was intimately familiar with. “I would not recommend that you do. Rather, think of me as a resource.” At her hesitance, he added, “I allowed myself to become a monster, Wanda Maximoff. Perhaps there is something to be learned from my mistakes.”

“You call yourself a monster?” He watched her glance at her hands, her brow furrowing.

Ridiculous. The mere idea that her deeds, whatever they may be, could ever be equated to his own was patently absurd.

Time to end this. “I know what I am.” Her mouth opened as though to argue the point, though it would get her nowhere, and Loki took a step forward, deliberately placing himself within her space. His lips curled back from his teeth, and for a split second, he allowed the Aesir illusion to slip, letting crimson bleed freely through his sclera. Pitching his voice to a low growl, he said, “And I think you’ll find a monster a valuable ally for defeating a titan.”

Strange appeared at her side in an instant. “Alright, that’s enough!” 

Loki glanced at him, then back at her, impressed to see that though she was evidently frightened, she was not by any means cowed, her jaw set with defiance. “Tell me, witchling,” his eyes returned once more to their Aesir state, “are you willing to use your power to save the very humans that fear you? Or will you leave them to the mercy of a mad man?”

Her gaze fell, settling on nothing.

Human lives ended so quickly even when unhastened by violence or sickness. It seemed almost a sin in of itself to ask them to risk what they’d hardly experienced. But if a few did not, they all would perish. 

She lifted her head. “I’ll do it. But not for you.” Fires blazed in her eyes. “I will fight so that those important to me do not have to.” 

Stacks of books appeared in Strange’s arms. “Then let’s get started.” And he allowed them spill out onto the table. There were tomes filled with countless spells that would doubtless be valuable so long as Thanos remained vulnerable to magic, but one of the covers caught Loki’s attention more than others. Following his gaze, Strange looked sheepish, “I must have grabbed that one by mistake.” Instead of asking how he could possibly have envisioned the wrong book for the summoning, Loki gently extricated it from the others, then carried it off to find a quiet place to read.


	6. The Hunt

The rain didn’t let up. 

If anything, it only seemed to increase in volume and fury, battering against the gothic window panes of the sanctum like thousands of shards of ice. From the sound of it alone, it was a miracle they didn’t shatter, though the reinforcement spells Strange had cast on the structure, compounded by those cast by sorcerers before him, may have also had something to do with their enduring integrity. 

Wanda, having little else to do in the down time due to her relative inexperience, closed her eyes, squeezing her arms tightly as a jagged streak of white-hot lightning split the sky, and counted slowly, deliberately, until the earth and walls trembled, and Loki listened to the half-whispered numbers, his eyes having ceased their scanning of the book propped open on his knee as his lips surreptitiously shaped the sounds along with her, and tensed at the inevitable conclusion. 

“It’s coming closer.” Standing in front of the scene, the untamed power within her swelling in response to the call of nature’s wrath, Wanda couldn’t help but feel that the crackling energy in the clouds was a part of her, that the wildness and chaos existed just as much within her as it did without. “The storm will be on top of us soon.”

What if she lifted her arms, tilted her head to the sky? Would it come down and swallow her up? Would she return to the earth in a burst, a strike, a streak that burned and melted and seared, clearing the fields and forests of old life to begin anew?

And then a question appeared within her mind - Why should she choose to remain in a frail, human body, lost and alone on a used-up, dying planet... when she could fly? When she could burn? 

" _When the winter winds blow_ ,” the melodic cadence of a poem startled her out of her thoughts, and she spun, turning her back on the wail of the wind, the lingering rumble of thunder that now bore a startling resemblance to hooves pounding in the soil, to find Loki staring steadily at her, the book he’d been reading prior set aside on the table beside him, “ _and the Yule fires are lit, it is best to stay indoors, safely shut away from the dark paths and the wild heaths_.” Rising cooly to his feet, he added with a note of warning, “Odin may lead the hunt no longer, witchling, but the hunt needs no master. It needs only to ride.” He stepped beside her, brushing her arm. She suppressed a shiver. “I wouldn’t listen too closely if I were you.”

“Do you not hear it?”

Though quiet desperation robbed her of volume, he replied readily, nigh incredulously, “Hear it?” Wistfulness overtook his visage as he laid a hand on the glass, his gaze becoming distant with memory. “I could name the hounds you hear. I have stroked the manes of the horses trampling the clouds. How could I not hear the siren call of the hunt when that same chaos that so ardently guides its riders sings without end in me?” Slowly, he allowed his arm to fall, fingertips lingering on the pane. “However…” A frown, equally melancholy and bitter, curved his lips. “...I fear my place amongst their ranks may be lost.”

Wanda glanced up at him, asking after a moment, “Do you regret it?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” Loki retorted dryly.

Undeterred, she elaborated, “Do you regret leaving your home?”

Taken aback by her boldness, Loki looked to Strange, not for assistance but for distraction, only to find him muttering rapidly under his breath, his eyes half-rolled back into his head as though locked in a trance. There would be no aid to be found there until the sorcerer either found what he was looking for amongst the maze of possibilities he’d so recklessly cast himself into, or returned of his own accord. Alternatively, Loki supposed he could reach into the endlessly mutable future to search for him, but rather hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Instead, he refocused his attentions on the young witch, “Are you aware of the circumstances of my departure?” She continued to wait, her expression expectant and open. Running his fingers through his wavy raven locks - who’d have ever thought there would come a day where his hair would be longer than Thor’s? -Loki sighed, “I’d like you to imagine something for me.” Brief hesitation. A nod. “Imagine if you will that you shut your eyes when the sun is high, and you do so for hours. You go the rest of your day with your eyes closed, and when at last you open them, the sun is gone. Now, intellectually, you know that the disappearance of the sun is not of your doing, but the natural order of things. And yet, in your heart, do you not wonder if the sun vanished the moment you shut your eyes?” 

Lightning cut its sharp lines through the sky, glowing so brightly it seemed almost blinding, then vanished. Silently, they counted the seconds, and when at last the thunder reached them, the sanctum quivered, as though the ancient structure, filled to the brim with tomes and spells and history, were frightened of what was to come. 

“I regret it sometimes, too.” Ripping his gaze from the storm, Loki cast a look of irritation in her direction. He did not recall ever saying _that_. Naturally, she ignored him, “But if I hadn’t… I would have never become an Avenger,” and outstretched her palm, gathering within her palm a crimson orb of infinite potential. “While I could not save my home, there are others I may yet save, and it is all thanks to this power.” And there was unmistakable steel in her. In her gaze, in her spine, in her words, “I have to make it my own.”

To find such resolve in one so young was rare, indeed. It seemed he had his answer.

Smiling softly, Loki told her, “It is already yours.”

She waved a hand, “You know what I mean.”

But he shook his head. “Acknowledging that your magic is a part of you is the first step to mastery. Think of it as your essence.” Yes, these were the words his mother had told him when he’d doubted his own power, when achieving the strength and confidence of the other children seemed an impossible task. “It is not simply a tool to be used, nor a limb to be manipulated and maneuvered. It is not a piece of you. It is all of you.” Even now, he could smell a hint of her perfume through the electricity thrumming through the air, pulling it taught. As though if he only turned around, “It is everything you are and everything you choose to be,” he would see her standing there, arms outstretched and waiting. _Who will you choose to be, Prince Loki Odinson?_ “Who will you choose to be, Lady Wanda Maximoff?” 

She wiped away a layer of condensation to scowl at her pale reflection. “Everyone is so interested in what I can become. What about who I am now?”

“What is the difference? Who we are, who we become. What does it matter what others think so long as we are always ourselves?” Briefly, though it may have been a trick of the light, the hair in his own reflection seemed to lengthen, curling down and framing a slender torso, and when he spoke, his tone carried with it a musical tone, higher in register and flowing, “In every shape, in every form, I am undeniably still myself.” When Wanda looked sharply beside her, however, Loki looked the same as always, though there was a sadness cut into his features that lent credence to the claim that he truly had lived hundreds of lifetimes, and carried them all with him in a body not yet past its prime. 

A sharp, shuddering gasp from behind them interrupted the conversation, as they each spun to find Strange panting, shaking, his skin shining with cold sweat. 

He had overtaxed himself. Wanda rushed to his side, catching him before he could sink to the floor. “If this is going to work,” he dragged in a ragged breath, “then we have to go now. Every second we lose is a point in his favor.”

Standing over the pair, Loki observed, “You’re of no use to us like this.”

Strange shot him an irritated glare, “I’ll recover in a minute, you sententious-” 

Before he could finish, he was stunned to silence by the quickness with which Loki gripped his wrist, and the liquid sensation of his own magic being returned to him through the contact. 

His strength returned to him, Strange regarded the knowing smirk Loki wore with shock. 

“Feeling better?”

“That was my magic. I shared it with you to help you-”

“I heal fast,” replied Loki curtly, already rising to his feet. “Now, shall we go?”

He didn’t ask what Strange saw on his vision quest. In all honesty, if their admittedly foolhardy endeavor were doomed to fail from the start, he’d rather prefer it to be a delightful surprise.

 

Once they’d stepped out into the squall, still standing under the overhang of the sanctum’s roof, Strange slipped several bands onto his fingers, then knocked them together to create a portal with jagged, spinning edges that burned amber-gold, and cast it over his head, allowing the majority of the pelting rain to fall through the tear in space to do its damage elsewhere.

While creative, the magic it would take to cart around a portal when a simple umbrella would suffice was astronomical in its wastefulness. Aware of the sorcerer’s watchful gaze, Loki allowed a modicum of his seidr to emanate from himself, then spread it out thinly around his person, forming a shield that would do little against a bullet, but more than enough against a storm. 

When he was done, he grinned impishly at Strange, taking satisfaction from the exasperated sigh it earned him. Wanda, on the other hand, remained uncovered. Loki waited for her to perform some casting, or else pull an umbrella out from her bodice, but she simply continued to stare owlishly at the pair of them. 

Right, then. Loki wordlessly dispelled his shield, projected a concentrated ball of his own verdant seidr into his palm, then carefully it spread out, allowing her to observe the steps. The most difficult part for a beginning practitioner was distributing the seidr evenly around the body, as a plate or a disk took far less effort to visual. Still, he threw the disk of focused seidr over his head, allowing the edges to fall until they enveloped him, more of a curtain this time than a dome. Not long after he'd finished, she made an attempt of her own. 

The shield was too thick in places, too thin in others, but for a first try, showed remarkable aptitude and intuition. He doubted even he had done so well on his first try. 

Loki felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. “Well done, witchling.”

With the three of them now ready, they strode into the heart of the storm, buffeted by the howling winds, to the center of Central Park, where Heimdall had once aimed the Bifrost to transport himself and his brother to Asgard. It was a powerful place of concentrated energies, a haven for nature in the midst of steel structures and concrete. Drawing on its power, Loki snapped his fingers, and the ground opened like a gray maw beneath them, swallowing them whole before even a startled scream could be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem about Odin's Wild Hunt that Loki recites a portion of is from Mountain Thunder by Kveldulf Gundarsson. It was said that the Hunt often preceded misfortune, such as illness, death, or war.


	7. Stars & Blackholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki, Wanda, and Dr. Strange are thrust into their first battle as a team

The moment they fell through the mouth Loki had called upon to rip open a seam in the fabric of reality, time passed differently for Strange. 

Fresh from experiencing thousands of iterations of their defeat, his spirit was tethered to the physical by a fraying string, and so felt the tear in the dimension with a raw sensitivity of spirit, as though the surface had been scraped off his soul. He witnessed raindrops pause in the process of their arced descent, as the earth trembled beneath the soles of his boots and split. From the viewpoint of his enhanced perception, rows of jagged fangs could be seen bordering the edges of the gash opening in the ground, along with thin, pale gums, and tendrils of drool. 

While Loki had spoken of luring Thanos and his children to the crossing of the leylines, he’d made no mention of this, and the panic welling within the sorcerer at his inability to react as quickly as his metaphysical form could perceive proved impossible to ignore. Helpless to move his body at a speed that would make a difference, Strange silently agonized while gravity took hold, bringing him and Wanda and the Asgardian down into a vast expanse of swirling gray clouds that revealed nothing of their destination. 

Interestingly, though Stephen was experiencing time at an accelerated pace with no outward sign of doing so, Loki tilted his head to regard him, the motion so subtle he might have imagined it if not for the slight arching of his dark brow. 

They were mid-way down now, roughly the point of no return, but Strange realized with a thrill that he was no longer afraid. Because while Captain America inspired bravery and trust in those who followed him, there was something about Loki's insufferable smugness that served to bolster and embolden all the same, if only in the hope of not giving him any more reasons to lord his superiority over the rest of them. 

In other words, Stephen decided in that moment that he would much rather die a thousand more deaths than have the Asgardian see him afraid, which proved to be fortuitous, as at the same time, the mouth closed, trapping them in this alternate dimension of Loki’s choosing, where they plummeted for minutes that felt like hours - the irony of which was not lost on Strange - before landing on ground that felt no more solid than air, in a fog so thick they could barely make out their feet.

It was like watching ice thaw into a river, the Wanda way gradually began moving faster, turning her palms over in alarm at the nebulous mass rolling over her limbs, so thick and dense they could barely make out each other, until at last, time caught up to Strange, snapping into place with the elasticity of rubber. 

“Care to explain where you’ve taken us?” He demanded, addressing the orchestrator of their descent. 

After a strange lull, Loki released a ragged breath, then tossed a golden orb of light.“It’s called a transdimension,” he muttered distractedly, watching the orb as it expanded outwards, beyond sight, before returning, like a ripple in reverse. Closing a fist over the golden light, he grimaced. “That’s rather disheartening.” Glancing at his companions, he elaborated, while attempting to smooth his features into something less obviously dismayed, “Of course I’d known there would be Otherworlders in this realm. It is simply that there are slightly more in our vicinity than anticipated, that’s all. No harm done.” He tried for a smile, though Strange rather wished he wouldn’t bother. 

“Transdimension,” he repeated slowly, thinking back to the hours of study he’d devoted to pouring over the ancient tomes. “I know I’ve come across that word before.” Loki crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. At once, it came to Strange. “These places exist between realities.”

“At the point where one becomes another, yes. In order to travel the realms, one must pass through them, though they may not always be aware.” 

Undeterred by the impatience lacing Loki’s tone, Strange continued, “This is where repressed thoughts and feelings gather, become nightmares.” Hearing that, Wanda glanced nervously at the fog, as though staring long enough could reveal what lurked within. There was a very good chance it would, but some buried instinct warned the sorcerer that their ignorance was a protection of its own. 

“Oh," with a grin crooked and wolf-like, Loki drawled with a melodic lilt, "it’s much more than that.” There again appeared that glint. The green in his eyes, already unnaturally bright, began to glow as though with fever. In front of him, a pair of wispy figures appeared. “Nightmares,” a twirl of his fingers and the figures danced, becoming the entwined silhouettes of a young man and a willowy women, “wear your fears like a second skin, prancing around in the guise of those you love most, until you fall blissfully into their embrace,” the pale young women fell bonelessly and with complete trust into the young man’s arms, her limbs closing around his waist as he held her, “entirely oblivious to the claws gouging into the flesh of your back,” and the young man’s form arched in wordless, soundless agony, impaled on his lover’s long, needle-like fingers. A shadow passed over Loki’s face, “the nails gently, tenderly piercing your heart.” 

Then, with a resounding clap, his hands closed over the macabre play, bringing it to a close. 

Tensed, Wanda scanned the fog, scarlet tendrils reaching where her vision could not. She bit down on a gasp as her psionic energy appeared to recoil from a solid mass disturbing the natural flow. “...Pietro?” 

It pressed closer. Loki tapped her on the shoulder, whispering urgently, “Avert your eyes, witchling. Shield your mind.” Seemingly unable to hear, she reached out to the disturbance, a dark mass that now appeared vaguely humanoid, breathlessly hopeful and wild. 

A weight lifted itself off Strange’s shoulders. He couldn’t see what was happening as the cloak dragged its fabric over his head, then there was a startled squeak, and Strange regained his bearings to see Wanda staring bemusedly at the heavy, high-collared garment sitting on her shoulders. It was ridiculously oversized on her, its hemming brushing the obscured ground when she shifted to get a better look at the enchanted designs sewn into the cloth. Bowed by an unnatural weight that greatly restricted her movements, she glanced questioningly at Strange, “Was this your doing, doctor?”

He shook his head. “My cloak tends to have a mind of its own.” Narrowing his eyes, he glared at the place in the gray, cloying fog that Wanda had been struggling to reach, willing the creature that had reached into her mind to falter and fade. “I believe it may have saved your life.” Nodding hesitantly, Wanda determinedly refused to so much as look at the fog as she gently stroked the cloak, whispering her gratitude into its collar. A corner reached up to wipe the trails of moisture from her cheeks. 

Turning on Loki, who was watching the interaction with a silent, thoughtful air, Strange demanded,“Why bring us to this cursed place?” He knew well of the trickster’s propensity for switching allegiances, and thus couldn’t bring himself to believe that the flash of regret that passed over his features wasn’t calculated. 

As though sensing the direction of his thoughts, Loki’s forehead smoothed of worry lines, a haughty smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. “It is as dangerous for us here as it will hopefully be for our enemies.” It spoke of a confidence that was patently false, a construct crafted from lies and illusions. Not even a day spent in the Asgardian’s company, and Strange was already sick of it. But he listened,“Even more so, perhaps, since they have felled so many in their time, destroyed so many lives.” His tone turned reflective, quiet, as he spoke almost to himself,“What terrible sins must they carry, I wonder?”

Wanda’s arms wrapped around her body, hugging the cloak closer to her form. Her expression darkened. “Loss. Despair. Regret. Who’s to say those capable of destroying worlds would feel any of those things?” Her features briefly contorted with remembered grief, before being forcibly remolded into a bitter scowl, “I have peered into the minds of true destroyers. They are not capable of it.”

Loki studied her. “Warped. Corrupted. Bent out of shape though they may be… They are still alive, witchling. All living things have regrets.”

Though Strange opened his mouth to speak, he quickly caught himself. Still, the look Loki cast his way could only be described as one of pure exasperation. After regarding him in silence for a moment, Loki sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Thanos will come here with the Reality Stone,” then he began to pace, though not so far that the fog Strange was beginning to suspect was at least somewhat sentient swallowed him. “He will wield the ability to bend our surroundings, our bodies, though not our minds,” and he glanced at Wanda, “to his will, if your precious Avengers have done anything right.” 

Her brow furrowed in thought, then a gasp, “Vis!” She balled her fists, gritting her teeth in impotent frustration. For someone who had already lost so much to lose more still…

Strange didn’t have to imagine the effect such loss might have on the human psyche. He’d witnessed the destruction first hand with Kaecilius. He’d witnessed it thousands upon thousands of times in his visions. 

_And as the last breath fled her lungs, her head tipped back in grateful acceptance, her eyes fluttering closed, at peace with death. Desiring it._

That fate could not be allowed to befall her here. He - No, _they_ wouldn’t allow it. 

“You needn’t worry, Miss Maximoff,” he assured her, ignoring the sharp look it earned him. “The captain will protect him in your absence.”

“You know this?” She asked, dubious. 

He nodded, lowering his mental shields long enough for her to feel his absolute certainty. There were certain truths in the multiverse, and one of them was that Captain America protected his people.

Gradually, she relaxed, her fists relaxing at her sides, then with a small smile, she gave the cloak a pat to let it know she was okay. “Thank you. You can go back to your master now.” And it gracefully drifted from her shoulders, settling once more on Strange, who admittedly felt safer when bearing its familiar weight. Although the garment couldn’t speak, the lingering concern it felt for the girl was palpable. 

Meanwhile, something in the distance had distracted Loki. His gaze was focused on a single point, watchful and weary. “My hope,” he muttered, “is that facing him here, outside the binds of reality will not only spare your precious earth from a battle they cannot hope to win,” as always, his faith in humanity was overwhelming, “but even the playing field, and since I am familiar with this space, it may even cast the odds in our favor.” A rift opened at the point, indistinct at first. Then it widened, ripping through the dimension with the sound of a distant scream. From it, an armored leg emerged, too long to be human. His teeth bared and green eyes alight with excitement, Loki drew his blades, crouching. “Shall we find out?”

And took off, speeding deftly through the perilous fog to take the intruder by surprise. 

He’s insane,” Strange remarked only to realize, with no small amount of consternation, that Wanda was no longer standing beside him. He looked up to catch sight of a distinctly scarlet blur chasing the snarling Asgardian’s heels. “Wonderful.” Then set off, his slingrings activated and twisting golden ribbons around his forearms while the cloak billowed majestically in the dead air, to catch up before they could get too far over their heads.

 

Upon exiting the portal, Corvus Glaive was greeted by the sight of an Asgardian in full regalia falling from above with his daggers poised to spear the sides of his throat, right where the plates were made thinnest to allow for mobility. Snarling, he threw his gauntlets before him to block the strike. “Only two, is it?” Loki tore open his gritted teeth to bark a laugh as Proxima stepped from the rift. “Franky, I’m offended.” And he disengaged, pushing off of Corvus’s chest with the soles of his feet to avoid the thrust of Proxima’s lance.

Before he’d completed his arc, Wanda rushed out of the shadow he cast, tossing crimson orbs at the Black Order combatants. The first went for the crescent-shaped wound Corvus bore across his torso. Proxima batted it away with her lance, deflecting the second with her vambrace. She sneered. “Think yourself powerful, girl?” 

Wanda focused on gathering her energy for a second volley. Loki landed lightly beside her. “You went after the Mind Stone, didn’t you?” He couldn’t quite hide his delight at the implicit confirmation in the furious roar that erupted from Glaive’s elongated maw. “Tell me,” Loki continued to press, deftly dodging a strike from the glaive that could quite literally atomize him if it made contact, “was it the dear captain who wounded you so, Corvus?” 

Outraged, Corvus raised his clawed hand for what would be a devastating blow… if it hit. First, he jerked in place, surprised he could not reach the trickster though he danced so tantalizingly in front of him, only to spot the ice creeping up his legs. Then he twisted to see the golden circle spinning around the hand he’d raised to strike, and Strange floated down, his hands moving swiftly in a closing motion. 

The portal sealed itself, taking Glaive’s hand with it. Presented with what remained, Corvus howled with rage, breaking free of the ice imprisoning his legs as Proxima rushed Wanda with her lance. “You think,” the cloak deflected the spearhead from hitting her, singeing itself on the point made of stars and blackholes in the process. Wanda used the distraction to surge forward, pushing a ball of energy into Proxima’s chest that send her skidding backwards on her heels, “because you have accumulated such a meager show of allies you stand a chance against the might of Lord Thanos?” And she straightened, virtually unharmed and visibly furious. “As I recall, his mere presence brought you to his feet, sniveling praises with your tongue of lead like a whipped dog.” 

And Loki knew well she was only trying to rile him up, as he had her husband, “Yes, well, suffice to say our recollections of that particular encounter differ greatly, Proxima,” it simply didn’t matter. He crouched, and with the memory of having his throat crushed, his brother thrown into the unforgiving reaches of space, at the forefront of his mind, coldly sneered,“But I’m more than willing to refresh your memory.” And he bolted forward, ignoring the warning shouts from Wanda and Strange, and leapt upwards, descending with his blades aimed for her exposed flesh.

“Starting from the prelude?” Proxima let out a cruel laugh. “But it was so short and underwhelming. I thought we might skip to the conclusion.” She reached out to catch him by the neck, only for her gauntlet to pass through empty space, the illusion dissipating upon contact. “What?!” Behind her, Loki lunged from the fog. She swung around to impale him on her lance, but that too was an illusion, and three more took its place. These, however, were solid, their blades real enough to clash against her spear shaft. 

“Careful, Proxima,” a disembodied voice mocked. “You’re dangerously close to demonstrating a capacity for independent thought. What would _he_ think?” 

A scream of frustration escaped her, before an idea struck, and she stabbed one construct through the torso, taking joy from the way its features contorted in agony before dissipating, then swung through the second’s neck, severing the head from its shoulders. This left only one to watch her wearily as it kept its distance. She grinned, her thin purple lips stretching too wide across her face, “Hello, Silvertongue.” 

With a small shrug, Loki wiggled his fingers in a sheepish wave. 

Meanwhile, Wanda concentrated on immobilizing Corvus, keeping him from defending himself as a dozen of Strange’s mirror images rained magically reinforced punches upon his head. He growled and snapped, reaching for illusions, only to suddenly twitch, his neck craning towards the shifting haze. 

Proxima stiffened. “What was that sound?” She swiveled her head wildly, trying to find the source, but Loki didn’t hear anything. He waited. “It sounds like…” A look of horror crept into her dark eyes. “Children?”

With a shout of rage and exertion, Wanda took advantage of their distraction to lift Corvus off his feet and propel him into the fog, which promptly rolled over him. “Corvus!” Proxima darted in after him. A high, shrill scream was heard. The grey haze continued to move and shift, peaceful and undisturbed. 

Breathing heavily, Loki shuddered. Wanda placed a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

He pulled away. “I’m fine.”

It was just… for a moment… he could have sworn…

The air had smelled distinctly of fresh rain and sunshine.


	8. 14,000,606

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the line.

Seconds ticked by, widening the gap from their past encounter while driving them ever closer to their next. At least, that was how they perceived it. Time was a construct of man, created for the purpose of forcing sense and order onto the world around them. The furtive creatures of the transdimension had no need of it. 

They did not age. 

Minutes could hours on the outside, hours could be days, days could be years, and nothing guaranteed that exiting this realm would insert them into the correct place on the timeline. Of course, leaving would only be a concern if they were victorious. 

Mist rolled ever closer, its edges reaching towards them like spindly fingers. Loki fixed the rolling mass with a glare that promised great suffering if the creatures continued to encroach. Frigga had warned of their tricks and manipulation, though mostly through the context of bedtime stories. Never had she mentioned any manner with which to defeat the creatures of the fog. 

A flicker of movement caught his attention. Pale, leathery and wrinkled flesh on a hairless back, translucent skin wrapped tightly around the ridges of a jagged spine and oversized rib cage. Its elongated snout dripped saliva, and when it moved, its limbs dragged on the ground. As he watched, the flesh rippled, adopting the gray, swirling patterns of its surroundings, the scent of sunshine and rain becoming overpowering. Wanda gasped her brother’s name. 

Loki spared her a glance. Frustration flashed across his features, directed inwards. His hands curled, nails biting into his palm, before abruptly going slack. “While often lonely,” he began, pitching his voice whisper-soft so as not to attract the attention of the hunters in the fog, "it is the duty of the survivors to live. Not even the Aesir, as long lived as they are, have the time to waste chasing ghosts as they pass.”

Her expression, as she listened, turned to steel. She took a step back, bringing her nearer to her allies, “I did not come to this place to die,” and raised her palms, their surfaces radiating crimson light that expanded until it enveloped all three of them completely. Though Loki could pass his fingers through the surrounding sphere, the mist bumped against it, curling in on itself and spreading like liquid sliding up and down against the sides of a glass canister. 

So this was what it felt like to be on a team. He was beginning to understand the appeal.

While Wanda was preoccupied with keeping the shield up, Strange decided to share his concerns. “Why haven’t they made any moves to attack us? These creatures have had plenty of opportunities to do so.”

“They are likely still digesting their latest meal,” Loki replied with pitch-black humor. After a moment, his gaze turned considering. “Do you see them? The monsters?”

Regrettably, Strange shook his head. “I see only my mentor.”

Which meant only one of them could see their true forms. Somehow, he’d always suspected that these creatures would use the visages of their lost loved ones against them, yet even so, he’d believed that… He’d _hoped_ that…

But that was his mistake. A little hope broke the spirit far more effectively than pain. 

Loki flexed his fingers. Somewhere, something howled. “Strip the protection spells from that pendant around your neck,” he demanded of Strange, who clutched the Eye of Agamotto protectively, his suspicion of the outcast Asgardian resurging. “Once the infinity stone is exposed, the Mad Titan or his psychics will pick up on its energy signature, and for better or worse, Thanos will surely come for it.”

“And we’ll be ready for him,” Wanda said consideringly. It was evident that she was tired of fighting ghosts, eager to face Thanos at last. Either they would win and leave this dreadful realm or lose and die. Anything was better than the agony of limbo. 

Strange, however, was visibly less than thrilled about the thought of using the Eye of Agamotto, a magical artifact capable of reweaving and unraveling the fabric of time, one that he’d sworn to protect, as bait for a civilization destroyer. To be fair, though, he was rather new to the practice. “How do you know Thanos will come himself? There has to be more lackeys he could send in his stead.” His cloak collar flipped upwards, as though it too were aghast at the suggestion. 

“That part’s rather simple, actually,” reassured Loki, lifting his palms in a gesture of peace, though it fell short since each of the mages present were lethal with or without the use of weapons. “He spared me, you see. Thus, it is a matter of pride. He cannot abide my betrayal a second time.” The confidence with which he voiced this was proof that there was substance to the legends that spoke of his silver tongue. Even so, though he desperately attempted not to show it in front of his companions, fear turned silver to lead. It was ingrained in his being, spreading from a dormant state like a virus. “He will come, Strange. I am certain of it.” 

Gradually, the collar began to settle as Strange pondered the proposal. He carefully gripped the Eye of Agamotto in his hand, holding it at chin-level, and began to dismantle the enchantments, peeling the shields and protective curses off one at a time, each of them briefly becoming visible in the form of bars, like those of a golden cage, until at last the stone rested bare and motionless in his palm. “And how long must we wait before he does?”

A massive gash appeared in the realm, as though space were made of paper. The edges flared and writhed, shifting rapidly through a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors. Inside the portal, they could make out a barren planet, its surface covered with dunes of rust-colored soil. 

Loki noted the widening tear with a wry smirk. “There he is now.” 

From somewhere beyond the portal, a pair of thick, muscled legs came into view, each of them clad in the armor of a conqueror. It certainly wasn’t hard to see how alien civilizations with no concept of the notion could mistake the titan’s intimidating presence for that of a god. 

One booted foot stepped through the portal, followed by the gold-encased torso and head of a giant with infinite power on his side. As Thanos rose to his full height, his words reverberated throughout the realm, “Had I known you would become such a thorn in my side, I would have had my daughters end your miserable life the moment you washed up on my shores.” 

Facing him once more had been Loki’s sole purpose since Thanos had taken it upon himself to punish Thor for his failures, but now that the Mad Titan stood once more before him in all his glory, it was all he could do not to fall to his knees. The conqueror’s presence was a devastating blow. 

The chill sinking down to his marrow was unbearable. 

And though he managed to curve his lips into a mirthless facsimile of a smile, his treacherous body wouldn’t stop trembling. 

A whirring sound, like buzzsaws, snapped him out of his spiral. He glanced to the side of him where Strange now wielded a pair of disk-shaped sigils as weapons. “Don’t let him get to you,” he called out over the noise. “Whether this is about redemption or some vendetta, you haven’t accomplished anything yet, have you?” Wordlessly, Wanda stepped beside them, entering a fighting stance of her own, the intensity of her scarlet-infused gaze locked on Thanos. Once the shock of the moment passed for the most part, a wild grin split Loki’s face. 

Daggers appeared in his hands, their surfaces glittering with the reflected light of infinity. 

Thanos stared down at the humans with bemusement, “You have all suffered so much loss. I understand how it weighs on you. But why? Why, in spite of this, do you continue to fight against your salvation?”

Disgust painting her features, Wanda lifted her chin defiantly. “We mourn our loved ones when they are taken from us.” Her voice climbed to an impassioned shout, “How can you claim to know _anything_ about grief when you are the monster who would steal them away?!”

Words, as always, held power. When was a monster not a monster? When it is in the company of something crueler and far more dangerous than he. In front of Thanos, perhaps the trickster and liar of Asgard, the Frost Giant’s changeling, could fight on the side of the good and righteous. 

While he wasn’t entirely sure he believed that, it was unarguably a nice change of pace - not having those words directed towards himself. On second thought, however, there was something about the Mad Titan’s reaction that disturbed him. His gaze whilst it remained on the witchling was softened, even tender. Rather like how he had always looked at his favorite daughter... They were roughly the same age, were they not? Those in the favor of Thanos had a tendency to be spared from the destruction of their race, yet none would ever say it was fortunate to be one of the select few in the universe the Mad Titan believed he loved. 

His arms sweeping out in a shallow bow that obscured Wanda from the titan’s dangerous attention, Loki grandly stepped forward. “I, on the other hand,” and he placed a palm over his heart, feigning sincerity, “have no doubts towards the intimacy of your understanding.” The eyes of his companions burned into his back. He ignored them. Any moment now, Thanos was going to strike. “Having been the engineer of so much of it yourself, I’d rather expect you must to be something of an expert on the matter.” 

But rather than deal with the uncertainty, was it not preferable to force his hand? 

The gauntlet shooting off sparks of color in his rage, Thanos loomed, high and immovable as a mountain, and when he spoke, his voice came out low, his words dripping with the promise of violence. “And what would you know of it, Silvertongue?”

That was when Loki realized he hadn’t just touched a nerve. A raw nerve, exposed and weeping. The color draining from his features, he asked in a muted, horrified tone, "What have you done?" 

On the golden gauntlet, four stones sparkled, their potential limitless. The stone of power he’d attained on Xandar, the stone of space had been traded for a life, the stone of reality had been hidden on Knowhere, which must have been naught but ruins now, and the soul stone… Loki didn’t know where Thanos had found it or what he’d sacrificed, but there was only one thing that could break the titan’s heart. 

Gamora had known the risk, as had he. Even so, the sight of the reality stone in the titan’s grasp hurt more than having the flesh pried from his limbs by a scalding blade. If he’d gone with her and her merry band of misfits, perhaps things would have turned out differently, though there was no way to know for certain. 

One thing he did know was that in order to lose something, one must in some way have it. And Thanos never had Gamora. She was never his to lose. 

“I think you’ll find that,” a shimmering outline split off from him on both sides, then redoubled, duplicating themselves over and over until dozens copies of Loki surrounded Thanos, “we have a very different definition of loss.” And the legion of illusions charged the titan, their palms firing off beams of concentrated aether that singed and blackened his armor in the hopes of diminishing its integrity. Wanda used her magic to propel herself higher, where she aimed her crimson blasts at the titan’s eyes and unexposed flesh, navigating nimbly through the air to avoid swipes from his huge palms. 

And while they kept him distracted, Strange focused on opening a portal around the titan’s arm with his sling rings. Though he’d never tried to displace such a large target before, there was only one way to find out if it would work.

“Enough of this foolishness,” Thanos growled, and the soul stone in his gauntlet glowed, revealing a core of white light in each of the duplicated Loki’s. 

One of the copies piped up, “They’re not mere illusions.” Another added smugly, “Each of them holds a piece of my soul.”

Accepting this, Thanos raised his gauntlet at the highest concentration of clones, “Then I imagine this will hurt you greatly,” and fired a blast from the power stone, eradicating the majority of them in the span of a blink. Swooping in, Strange managed to grab hold of one of the duplicates farthest from the blast and spare it the fate of the rest. It writhed in his grip, its expression contorted in agony.

Once they were out of the titan’s immediate range, Strange demanded, “You can split your soul?” As he watched, the soul within the duplicate became larger and more complete as it assimilated with the pieces freed from their vessels. 

He who was Loki-once-more rasped, “Yes,” offering the sorcerer a feeble smile with a wheeze, “though it’s not exactly encouraged.”

Once Strange had helped him to his feet, he called out to Wanda to halt the titan’s movements for as long as she could manage, and she soared closer, perching on his shoulder, right at Thanos’ temple, where her psionic energy could do the most damage. As the tendrils of her mental connection seeped into his mind, his body slackened, his face becoming twisted with grief. Groaning with the effort, she called down to them, “His mental defenses are too strong! This isn’t going to hold him for long.”

A portal appeared around the gauntlet, on the other side of which was Central Park, though there was evidence of destruction there now that hadn’t been present when they’d walked its paths before. Once it was formed, Strange attempted to slam his palms together to shut it, but a field appeared around the gauntlet, repelling the edges. Muttering a curse, Strange dispelled the construct with a flick of his wrist. “Cutting it off isn’t going to work. The stones are protecting him.”

Thanos began to blink rapidly, coming out of the nightmarish stasis Wanda had inflicted. An arm as thick as the trunk of an ancient redwood rose to snatch her from his shoulder, but before this could come to pass, Strange ripped open a smaller portal beside her, and another beside him. Without hesitation she leaped from the titan, his fingertips so close they brushed her hair, then barreled through the second portal, whole and out of harm’s way. 

“What’s the plan?” Then her gaze flicked past them. She appeared distracted for a moment, her gaze becoming unfocused as her lips shaped a name. Abruptly, she lunged at them, forcing them to the ground, “Get down!” 

A second blast from the power stone razed the space where their heads had been an instant before. Each of them were breathing harshly when it passed, their foreheads beaded with sweat from the heat, of which Wanda had borne the brunt.

Once released, Loki asked the pair of them to buy him some time, as much as they could. As soon as she heard his request, Wanda nodded, clumps of her sweat-saturated hair sticking to her leather vest, and the ground began to shake and crack and splinter, an aura appearing around jagged pieces of rock as they floated upwards. She plunged into the battle, Strange joining her to provide portals she could escape through if cornered, and also to make the trajectory of her projectiles harder to predict, and thus more challenging to blast to oblivion or turn to foam. With them keeping Thanos on the defensive, Loki was able to concentrate on his form. 

Slowly, his bones began to length, thicken. Muscles swelled, the skin around them stretching to compensate for the newly grown mass. Arms shrank into his sides as his mouth filled with serrated teeth, their tips ripping into his gums before the flesh became tougher. His senses changed as the space between his eyes widened, and his nose flattened, now a pair of slits at the end of a long snout. His body bent forward as it lengthened, raising him up higher and higher until he looked down on even the Mad Titan. 

And the realm shook with a guttural, undulating roar. 

Wanda sent all of the rocks and debris she’d collected flying at Thanos at once, immobilizing him. Through the cracks between the boulders pressing against his face, Thanos managed, “This changes nothing. The universe must be balanced. You are throwing your lives away for a futile endeavor.” 

Strange responded by sacrificing a portion of his energy to Wanda, “The Ancient One sacrificed everything to protect this world.” His magic, a dun yellow, was absorbed into her, lightening the color of her psionic aura to a reddish-orange. Thanos groaned, his knees buckling as his density increased tenfold. “What kind of poor excuse for a student would I be if I didn’t do at least that much?” And the tyrannosaurus rex charged. Swinging its great head back as forth, it lunged for the titan’s neck, but Thanos managed to get his hands in Loki’s jaw, keeping the snapping maw at bay long enough for him to lift the dinosaur and throw it in Strange’s direction. 

Although knowing that his power was weakened due to having expended so much of it on incapacitating the titan, he cast a pair of shields, and braced for impact, only to feel a hard tug at his collar when Wanda grabbed him and pulled him out of harm's way. 

Loki’s gigantic body slammed against the ground, rolling violently over itself in a tangle of limbs that stopped beyond the fog’s edge. Thanos followed, meaning to finish what he’d started… then stopped. His stood as though lost, staring dazedly at a single point in the mist that rolled over his adversary’s fallen form. He whispered a single word. A name. “Gamora?”

Above them, another portal appeared. This one, however, was not of Strange’s making. It lacked finesse, as though it had been bludgeoned into being with a blunt instrument. Through the opening, winds howled, thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Lightning streaked through the realm, drawing ever closer to where Thanos stood, and as though carried in by the storm, a man with one white eye fell from the portal, his features twisted in fury. The massive ax he bore sliced through the lightning in his path before burying itself in the titan’s chest, and Thanos dropped to his knees, clutching at the handle of the weapon whose blade had plunged so close to his heart.

He took a ragged, shuddering breath. “You should have aimed for the-” Betraying the first sign of life, the tyrannosaurus rex reared up behind him, gripped the titan’s head between its jaws, then with a sickening crack, put an end to his twisted dream once and for all.

 

They returned to Midgard broken, battered, and victorious. Thor, as it turned out, had been rescued by a Xandarian craft that was patrolling the region. They’d helped him reach the planet of the dwarves, where he’d had an ax forged to help him better harness his own power. 

With it, he was able to transport the four of them to Central Park, where for the first time in what seemed like days, it wasn’t raining. The sky was clear of clouds, and a gentle breeze swept through the trees still standing. 

There was no mistaking, however, that a great battle had taken place. Pieces of buildings had collapsed, the streets were evacuated, and trunks pulled out of the ground by their roots lay strewn about the park like the toys of a messy child. 

As they made their way down the path, Loki swayed on his feet, his distended jaw, broken and swelling, and depleted energy making it difficult for him to keep pace with the others. Concerned, Strange reached out when he began to list. Thor caught him first, a gentle smile on his face, “You look terrible, brother.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled past Loki’s lips. Everything had worked out so well, with all of his companions alive and mostly whole, that he couldn’t help expecting the rug to be pulled out from underneath him at any moment. 

Iron Man found them first, followed by a very human Bruce Banner, and a boy-child dressed as a spider. The last of the trio waved enthusiastically at Wanda, who returned the gesture with a mite less enthusiasm but no less sincerity. While they got acquainted with each other, Loki mentally ran down a list of all the species of humanoid arachnids he knew of. After all, the boy had clearly shot webbing from his wrists, a feat humans, as far as he was aware, were not capable of. 

After customary greetings, Thor addressed Stark, “Where are the others?”

Stark’s damaged visor lifted to reveal an impressive collection of mottled bruises. “They’re with Cap in Wakanda. We had a bit of a falling out,” he answered a little too quickly. On the whole, Loki found his discomfort a sufficiently amusing distraction from his pain. “But that’s not important. What’s important is,” and he placed a hand on Thor’s shoulder, who looked at it with confusion, as though wondering how it’d gotten there, “it’s great to have you back, Point Break.”

Strange gave Banner a once-over, taking in the silk navy robe with the S engraved on its front with a bemused frown. “Why are you wearing my robe?" 

“You see, there’s a very simple explanation behind that, which is,” Banner awkwardly scratched his cheek, “...I landed on your house.” The sigh that escaped the sorcerer was like that of an exasperated parent, coming home after a long day to find his children had colored on the walls. 

Having decided he’d had enough of these pleasantries, Loki made his presence known with a pointed clearing of his throat. “No offenth meanth, of courth,” unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about the obstruction to his speech with his jaw like this, so he would just have to make due, “but should any of you try to stick me in a cell right now,” and his tongue split in half at the tip. The pupils of his yellowing eyes became narrow, “you may not like what happensss nexth.”

A stern swat upside the back of his head from the witchling, followed by a sharper rap from the sorcerer’s cloak, promptly ruined his focus, undoing the partial transformation. He rubbed at the sore area, shooting them both a glare without any genuine heat in it. 

Though his lack of ire baffled him at first, it would soon become apparent that there were some things a witch, a sorcerer, and a mage couldn’t do together without becoming closer in the end, and saving the universe was one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who decided to read and follow this year-long project of mine. After watching Infinity War, I made it my mission to save Loki in as many ways I could think of before Endgame came out, and now there's nothing left to do but curl up with a cup of hot cocoa and wait for the end of April to come around. 
> 
> Hope you all had a good time and maaaybe played Thunderstruck at some point during the final battle~


End file.
